Carter's Story
by The Gun Slick
Summary: This is a story about Carter's time in Stalag 5, and how he became part of the team. This story is kind of dark so its rated T just to be safe...
1. April 2, 1942

**(_It's fixed! Thanks to Book 'em Again! Now maybe your eyes wont bleed when you read it :p)_**

**Feel free to point out any errors you see! Constructive criticism is all ways helpful! **

**I just wanted to post the first chapter to Carter's Story on the 4th of July. (Happy 4th by the way! :D) So this is pretty short... the next chapter will be much longer!**

**A great ole' big thank you to Book 'em Again for betaing this story! **

**And a huge thank you to Belphegor and Fortune Maiden for helping me with the plot for this story!**

**And... In this story I have made Carter a little younger, he is 20.**

**Please leave a review! **

**Thank you for your patience! **

**GS**

**Disclaimer: This story was inspired by the song Sound the Bugle by Bryan Adams. I don't own the song, I do not own HH, I do however own the characters that I made up...**

I can't believe it. One minute I was flying high getting ready to drop a bomb and the next I was setting in an interrogation room with two Gestapo.

So much for that weekend pass I was going to get when we got back. Speaking of we, I haven't seen the other men since we were taken prisoner by that SS patrol when we crashed, I hope they're all okay.

Now I am headed to Stalag 5, a real live POW camp.

The truck I was in came to an abrupt stop that almost sent me and the two Gestapo privates that were with me in the back of the truck to the floor.

I heard a couple of German voices shouting back and forth outside of the boxed in truck bed; one I recognized as the Gestapo escort in the front of the truck.

The truck jerked into motion again and went a little ways before stopping once more. Then there were more German voices and the door to the back of the truck opened.

I stood up. "Aussteigen!" one of the men on the ground told me, but, of course, how was I supposed to know what that meant? I didn't speak German.

"Schnell!" one of the guards in the truck with me said as he pushed me forward.

I got the gist of what they were saying and climbed down out of the truck. I saw a man standing on the porch of what was obviously the Kommadant's office, as it was the only one that wasn't run down looking.

The man had an ugly sneer on his face as he stepped down off the porch and walked over to where the three Gestapo guards and I stood. When the Kommandant appeared, the guards saluted with a "Heil Hitler."

If I could use one word to describe that man it would be snake, that's what he looked like as he cocked his head to the side and looked me over.

"So, Sergeant Carter," he said in a thick German accent "I am Kommandant Hitzig, and I do so hope you will enjoy your stay here at Stalag 5." He smirked as he glared at me; I almost flinched from the hatred in his voice and eyes.

"For you, Sergeant. The war is over." This was the point that it finally sunk in that I, Andrew J. Carter, was a prisoner of war.

It took all the strength I had in me to keep from sagging to the ground right there and then.

He turned to a tall man standing over to the side "Nehmen Sie diesen Mann in die Baracke 4."

"Jawohl, Herr Kammandant!" The sergeant saluted and grabbed me roughly by the arm and shoved me forward until we reached a rundown barracks.

The sergeant opened the door and shoved me in. At the table in the middle of the small room sat four men. All of them looked thin, over-worked and malnourished. I jumped when the sergeant slammed the door shut as he left.

I shifted nervously as the men at the table still were sitting there, staring at me.

"Um… I'm Tec. S-Sergeant Andrew Carter." I said, hoping to break the ice, I gulped as they continued to stare at me. But finally one of them gave me a small smile and held out his hand.

"Welcome to Barracks 4. I'm Private Blake Dawson, nice ta' meet cha," he said

"Same here." I smiled back at him as I shook his hand.

Dawson introduced the other men, who were still staring at me: Sergeant Frank Thompson, Corporal Sammy Adams and Corporal Casey Jones.

"It's nice to meet all of you," I said. Some of the men grunted while others nodded and they went back to stare blankly at the wall or tabletop.

I sat down on one of the empty bunks and looked around at the worn out bunk beds, table and small pot-bellied stove. What a dump…

But what did I think it would be like, the Ritz? I was in a POW camp for crying out loud!

"So I guess you're our new Barrack's chief." Dawson shifted from foot to foot.

"I guess so." I nodded; I've never done anything like this before.

"Roll call is in an hour," Dawson informed me.

"Okay, thanks," I said with a smile.

"So... where are you from?" Dawson asked.

"Bullfrog, North Dakota. You?"

"Atlanta, Georgia."

I studied Dawson for a moment, he looked to be about nineteen maybe twenty, so me and him were about the same age.

He had a square face with low eyebrows and a nordie nose, his hair was chocolate brown and his eyes were turquoise was short, I'd say about 5'7", and had broad muscular shoulders. He was stocky and much more muscular than I.

"I just got here three days ago," he said sitting down on the bunk to my right

"I guess that's why you're a little more talkative than them," I said with a small smile.

He smiled back and nodded.

"Sergeant…" Dawson began.

"It's Carter," I corrected him.

"Carter, you need to watch out for the Kommandant. He's a bad one."

I nodded to show my understanding; I knew he was a snake.

"And since you're the new Barrack's chief, he'll be watching you. Just do what he says and he'll leave you alone."

After roll call, Dawson and I talked for a while about things we had in common and of home.

Me and Blake, I don't know when we started calling each other by our first names, but by the end of the night we were. We had hit it off really well.

The next morning roll call was held at 4 o'clock in the morning. The Kommandant came out of his office with another man, a slim man with beady eyes and thin lips. After the sergeant told Hitzig that all prisoners were present and accounted for, the Kommandant turned to the other man and said in English, "As you have requested, Franz, our smallest barracks of men. We cleared the scum out of this barracks to make room for new prisoners that should be here after their interrogations are finished, but for now we only have five men in Barracks 4."

Franz nodded his head in approval as Hitzig continued, "This one here was brought in only yesterday." He pointed at me. "And the one beside him…" He pointed at Blake. "…was brought in three days ago." Franz again nodded in approval.

"The others have been here for some time now, but they can still work very well!" Hitzig ensured Franz.

"I'm sure they will do just fine, Major." Franz smirked

I looked over at Blake, who was glaring at Hitzig and Franz.

"Sergeant Morich!" Hitzig bellowed, even though the sergeant stood not five feet away from him.

"Ja, Herr Kommandant!" Morich snapped to attention

"Take these prisoners and load them into the truck, assign seven guards to go with them."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!" the sergeant saluted and began ushering us toward a box truck that was parked outside the Kommandant's office.

I looked over at Blake yet again to see if he knew what was going on. Blake just gave me a very sad excuse of a reassuring smile as he climbed in the back of the box truck.

TBC...

Aussteigen - Get out

Schnell - Quickly

Sargent, nehmen Sie diesen Mannin die Baracke 4. -Sergeant, take this man to the barracks 4

Jawohl, Herr Kommandant! - Yes sir ((mister)) Kommandant


	2. April 3, 1942

**Hey Guys!  
>Here is chapter two for ya! Sorry it's not as long as I would like it to be, I've had a pretty busy week.<br>**

**Thank you Book 'em Again for betaing this story!  
><strong>

**Hope you like it!  
>Please leave a review!<strong>

**GS**

**Disclaimer: I don't own HH. I'm not making any money. So... yeah.**

* * *

><p>All I wanted was a drink of water, just one tiny sip.<p>

The guards were given water, and they weren't even working! Well, I guess they were guarding us, but it's not like any of us tried to escape.

We had been working for two hours already, and if you don't think it gets hot building a barn than you're wrong. Besides, anyone who says spring time in Germany is cool must be out of their mind, because I'm willing to bet it was in the 60s that day. Which wouldn't have been that bad, if we hadn't been working like dogs.

But I ask you, who picks the smallest barracks of men to build a barn? Granted, it wasn't the biggest barn I'd ever seen, but it would have still went a lot quicker and easier for us workers if there were more men working on it.

Or maybe, Hitzig made that Franz guy pay per man? I'm not really positive how that stuff worked, I just know that we worked.

Blake and I worked on the frames, while the other three put up the main posts.

But what I find odd, or rather, uncommon in a barn, is that Franz had us dig a cellar under his barn. I suppose it's as good a place as any to put a cellar, but it seemed kinda odd to me that he had us put a trap door over it too, oh well.

As the day dragged on, and I mean literally dragged on, it seemed like it would never end. I was very happy to find that we did, in fact, get a water break every three hours and at noon we were given lunch. It wasn't very good, but it was still food... I think.

Luckily, with it being such a small barn, we had the outside walls up and half the roof on by the time the sun started to set.

"Boy will I ever be ready for lights out tonight! I'm joed!" Blake exclaimed as we sat in the back of the box truck.

"You and me both, boy." I stretched my tired, aching shoulders and yawned.

The other three just set there staring into nothingness and didn't say a word. I was worried about them. None of them had said a word to me all day except to ask for a tool while we were working.

"You said your folks have a barn on their farm right, Andy?" Blake leaned his head back.

"Yeah, it's a little bigger than this one."

"My grandparents had a big barn. Pappy kept retired racehorses in it. He was a jockey when he was young."

"My dad took me and my brother to a race once." I would have told him all about that race, who won, how much my brother loved it, what a big crowd there was, but I was too tired. Besides, if his Grandfather had racehorses, surely he had been to the races before.

"_Ruhig_!" one of the guards in the back with us said in a demanding voice.

"Was stört es Sie, wenn wir unter einander reden?" Blake retorted in flawless German.

"Haben Sie den Mann nicht gehört?! Er sagte ruhig!" another guard hissed at Blake.

I sat watching in shock as Blake spoke German to the guards. Where did he learn to speak German?

We sat in silence the rest of the ride back. And let me tell you, that was a lengthy ride! We spent at least two hours driving through the countryside of Hammelburg until we passed through Kranenburg – that's the town closest to Stalag 5.

Once we got back to the stalag, Sergeant Morich lined us up for a roll call to show the Kommandant that no one had escaped while outside the barbed wire. Then we were then sent back inside our barracks. There was thirty minutes left until lights out.

"How did you learn to speak German, Blake?" I set down on the thin, lumpy bed that I had claimed for myself last night.

"Well, when I was drafted I figured it'd be a good idea to learn German and there just happened to be a feller in my barracks that knew it... so he taught me a little. Then when I got sent to England another buddy of mine taught me more. Now that I'm here, I've gotten lots of practice." He plopped down on the bunk next to mine.

"Hey, if ya want I could teach ya some!" His face light up as he smiled.

"Gee, would ya? That'd be just swell!" I smiled back at him; it would be handy to know what the guards say sometimes.

"Sure, I'll teach ya all I know!" He yawned "But I think maybe we should start tomorrow. I'm gonna turn in," he said as he tugged his boots off.

"Night, Andy."

"I do know some German, like _Nicht schießen_, that means don't shoot. And _hallo_ is hello, and…" I rambled excitedly as I too tugged off my boots.

"_Goodnight_, Andy."

"Oh... G'nigh, Blake." I looked down sheepishly.

Blake shook his head and smiled as he lay down and pulled the thin, threadbare cover over himself.

I covered up and rolled over, almost instantly falling asleep.

The next morning found us back at Franz's barn, where all that was left to do was the inside walls and the other half of the roof.

"No, no, no. Try it again, _mein_," Blake corrected yet again.

"_Mein_," I repeated.

"_Name_."

"_Name_."

"_Ist_."

"_Ist_." And so it went for the next two hours. Blake would say something and German and I would repeat it. Then he would tell me what it meant and we would say it again and I would repeat it again.

This helped me to keep my mind off the grueling work of building the barn.

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><p><strong>Translations:<strong>

**Runhig- Quiet**  
><strong>Was stört es Sie, wenn wir unter einander reden?- What do you mind if we talk among each other?<br>_Haben Sie sich nicht hier um den Mann? Er sagte ruhig_!- Did you not here the man? He said quiet!  
>Mein Name ist- My name is<strong>,


	3. April 4, 1942

**Hello again! :) A really big thank you to Frl. Klink for helping me with the German in this chapter!**

**Hope you enjoy chapter 3! Please leave a review! **

**Thanks :)**

**GS**

**Disclaimer: I don't own HH. I'm not making any money off of this.**

* * *

><p>"<em>Hallo, wie geht es Ihnen<em>?" Blake asked as he finished hammering a board to one of the stall walls.

"Mir geht es gut_, wie geht es... dir_?" I handed him a nail as I put the next board into place.

"_Gut, danke._" Blake smiled at me, "You're getting good at this! It's only been a day since we started!" he exclaimed.

"I'm really not that good..." I blushed sheepishly at his praise.

"Sure ya are! I've never seen anyone pick up a language that quickly." He hammered the nail into place.

"Well, I've still got a ways to go before I can really speak it." I handed him another nail.

"But you're still doin' pretty good for a beginner." He pounded on the nail and I handed over another one as he moved to the bottom of the board.

I looked over my shoulder to where the other men were working on another wall. They were quietly arguing with each other. I didn't know what the issue was, but Jones glanced at me and Blake a few times and Thompson nodded our way once in the short time that I had been watching.

"I need another one." Blake swatted at my arm to get my attention.

"Oh, sorry," I said as I handed him yet another nail.

What if I said, 'wer ist da?' What would that mean?" he asked.

"Um... Who is... Here?" I moved the next board into place.

"Nope; who's there. Here would be _hier," _he explained.

"What about... _Wie spät ist es_?" He took the nail I handed him and started hammering.

"What...er... time is it?" I raised my eyebrow and, once again, handed him another nail.

"Yep. Now, you try me," he said smiling.

"Um... _Kann ich Ihnen_... Um..." I stammered trying to find the right word.

"_Helfen_," Blake said as he moved down to the bottom of the board.

"Yeah, that's the word. _Kann ich Ihnen helfen_?"

"Can I help you?" Blake translated as he held out his hand for another nail. "What about... _Bringen Sie mir ein Bier, bitte_?"

"Um... all I understood was please..." I moved another board into place.

"That's okay. That was 'bring me a beer, please.' But you're doing really well so far! It took me a week just to get to where you are right now, and you've only been doing it since yesterday!" he exclaimed.

"Thanks." I looked back over my shoulder at Thompson, Adams and Jones, who seemed to have stopped arguing. However, Jones and Adams were still looking at me and Blake with a rather sympathetic look in their eyes. I wondered what that was all about.

"What do you think they were arguing about?" Blake asked after hammering in another nail.

I looked back at Blake; I hadn't realized he had seen them arguing too.

"Don't know." I sighed and handed Blake one more nail.

Blake shook his head and started hammering again.

I looked around at the work we had done in the last three days. We had put up the posts, the frame, the roof and had a little over half the inside walls finished, not to mention the cellar. But the sun was about to set, so we would have to come back in the morning to finish it up.

Then I'd never have to set foot in this barn again!

"_Arbeit_!" one of the guards, a private by the looks of it, barked at me and Blake. Apparently they were ready to get out of here too.

I moved the last board into place and handed Blake a nail, and another nail, and yet another and finally the last nail of the day.

Blake stood up and brushed the knees of his pants off, groaning as he straightened back up.

"I figure we'll be done with this by tomorrow," he said.

"Yeah I hope so, boy!" I discarded the box of nails I was holding.

"Everyone in the truck," one of the guards barked in a thick German accent, but at least he spoke a little English.

We moved to get in the back of the truck. Two guards got in first, then the prisoners, and then two guards at the end. Once again we started our long trek back to Stalag 5. And we again went the whole way in silence, other in the occasional comment one guard made to another, all in German.

Once we arrived back at the stalag, we lined up for roll call.

As we waited for Hitzig to come out another box truck rolled in, and out of it came ten sweaty, filthy men who looked ready to drop at any minute. They were lined up for roll call outside of Barracks 6, which was one building to the right of our barracks, where they waited for the Kommandant.

When Hitzig finally appeared he had a glass of Kölsch in his hand and a lady on his arm. But when he came forward, she stayed behind on the porch of his office.

We were dismissed after one of the guards told Hitzig that we were all there and told we had twenty minutes before lights out.

Blake and I decided we would sit on the small rickety bench outside the barracks for a minute before we went in.

We watched as Hitzig made his way over the Barracks 6. When he got there a guard grabbed a boy by the arm and yanked him forward, almost sending him to the ground. The boy couldn't have been a day over seventeen, probably younger. He must have lied about his age to enlist. He looked as if he was about to faint in fear at any moment as he was pushed in front of Hitzig.

"_Er versuchte zu fliehen_!" the guard reported to Hitzig.

"What did he say?" I asked Blake.

"He said he tried to escape."

I look back to Barracks 6 as Hitzig barked, "Ten days, bread and water! Six days in the hot room! You're lucky, since this is your first time, that you got off very easy! The next time will be much worse!" He back handed the boy, who fell to the ground. Then Hitzig dismissed everyone and just walked off.

I watched as some of the boy's friends helped him up and into the barracks, then I looked over at Blake.

"Poor kid." He shook his head and sighed. "We best go in now." He stood up and headed for the door to the barracks.

I remained sitting for a second with what I'm sure was a concerned face. How could they do that to a boy? Finally, after realizing that there was nothing I could do, I stood up to follow Blake inside, glancing once more at Barracks 6 before I stepped through the doorway.

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><p><strong>Translations:<strong>

**Hallo, wie geht es Ihnen?- Hello, how are you?**  
><strong>Mir geht es gut, wie geht es dir?- I am well, how are you?<strong>  
><strong>Gut, danke.- Well, thank you.<strong>****  
>Arbeitet!<strong>- Work!  
><strong>


	4. April 11, 1942

**A/N: Hey everybody! Hope you are having a good day!**

**Thank you Snooky, Frl. Klink and Fortune Maiden for your reviews! Ya'll are so encouraging! I'm glad you like it so far! Sorry the chapters have been so short... I'm going to write a longer one here pretty soon! Promise!**

**Thanks to my awesome beta-reader Book 'em Again for... well, being an awesome beta-reader... **

**And... I'm sorry it took so long to update this, I had a case of writers block. **

**Hey speaking of writers block, does anyone have any quick cures for it? Just incase it happens again.**

**Also, school will be starting for me soon so I might be a little slow updating...**

**Thanks for your time, sorry if I'm boring ya'll to death! I can get a little long winded sometimes..**

**As always, reviews are very, *_very* _**appreciat**ed!**

**Until the next chpt.**

**GS ;)**

**Disclaimer: It's the same as it was the last chapter... really, trust me!**

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><p>I've never been so tired in my whole entire life. And here I thought building that barn was hard work. Now, I tell you, I'd give just about anything if I could go back to that!<p>

For the last week we, meaning the men from Barracks 4, 5 and 6, had been working at a lumber mill. Well, really we've been out chopping down trees, loading them into a large horse drawn flat wagon and bringing them to the mill to be cut. So I guess were working in a lumberyard rather than a lumber mill.

Oh, and if that wasn't bad enough, last night I found out what a hot room was. See yesterday at the night roll call, after working in the mill for six days straight, it seems I wasn't standing at perfect attention. Well let's just say Kommandant Hitzig wasn't in the best mood, so I was sent to the hot room for the night.

The hot room is basically a room with bars separating the prisoners from the large stove in the middle of the room, and let me tell you it gets hot in there! No wonder they call it the hot room.

That boy, the one from Barracks 6, Private Swanson, was in there too. And his six days in the hot room really meant six nights, because they let him out every morning to work with us. He looked awful. But I guess I would too if I went six days of working hard during the day and no sleep at night; it's so hot in there that there is no way anyone could ever hope to sleep.

"Andy!" I was startled out of my musings by Blake's yell. I looked over to where he stood by the large wagon with most of the other prisoners and a guard that held a water bucket. Galvanized, I quickly made my way to the line of prisoners and took my place in the back, two places behind Blake.

"What were you doing? You could have missed the water!" he whispered just loud enough for me to hear him.

"Sorry, I guess I was just thinking." I shrugged, taking a step forward as the line moved.

Blake just sighed and shook his head.

After we got our water, Blake and I parted ways as he went back to loading logs into the wagon and I went back to cut down trees.

I was paired with that Swanson kid today. He's a nice enough kid, a little quiet and jumpy, but I guess I would be the same if I had spent a year in here.

"So Swanson," I said trying to make idle conversation. "Where are you from?"

"Salt Lick, Kentucky," he mumbled.

"I'm from Bullfrog, North Dakota."

Swanson looked up at me and kind of smiled. "My granddaddy was from Crab Apple Junction."

"Small world isn't it," I said smiling at him. He nodded and continued working.

"You got any family?" I asked him.

"Momma and my three older brothers," he said quietly.

"I got a little brother, his name is Michael. And my mother and father," I told him. He didn't say anything. "Do you have a girl back home?"

He paused and then said, "No." Then he turned and started working again.

"I got a girl, her name's Marry Jane. We're going to get married when I get home." _If I get home_, I thought to myself.

"That's nice," he said. I kinda got the feeling he wasn't very interested in what I was saying so I tried to stop talking. Key word tried.

"Do you like motorcycles?" I asked.

Swanson shot me an exasperated look.

What? I've been here nine days and Blake is the only person I've had to talk to! If Swanson didn't want to talk at least he could listen.

Swanson nodded.

"I got one at home. It's really neat!" Swanson didn't respond, so I continued telling him all about my bike, my family, Marry Jane and my cousin Angry Rabbit Who Has Thorn In Cottontail, he did kind of look at me a little wired when I told him that.

After talking to him for about an hour he finally said something. "Carter, do you ever shut up?" he blurted out. His eyes got big as he realized he had said that out loud, and I was a sergeant.

I smiled at him to let him know that I didn't really care, Blake said that all the time. He smiled back and we kept on working, and I really did try to talk less.

It was finally time for the next water break so Swanson and I walked over to stand in line.

I noticed Swanson rubbing his temples a lot today, he must have a headache. Poor kid, I would hate to have to do this job with a headache on top of it all.

Blake got in line behind us and I introduced him to Swanson.

"Nice to meet ya." Blake held out his hand.

"Same here," Swanson said shaking Blake's hand.

"Has ol' Andy here been talking your head off today?" Blake smiled.

Swanson nodded with a small smile.

"Well believe it or not he does shut up. When he sleeps." Blake laughed and patted me on the shoulder. Swanson chuckled and shook his head; he really doesn't talk much at all.

Blake was quieted by the glare of the guard holding the water bucket.

After we were given our share of the water, a cup each, Blake went back to his job and Swanson and I went back to ours.

Later that day as the sun started to set we were loaded into the box trucks and taken back to the stalag, where we again waited for Hitzig to come out to roll call.

When he came out three guards reported to him that all prisoners were present and accounted for and we were dismissed to our barracks.

I paused just outside the door, watching as Swanson tiredly shuffled into Barracks 6. I wondered if that's what I would look like in a couple of months?

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><p><strong>1.) As far as I know the Germans did not really have Hot Rooms. Its just something I made up for the story!<strong>

**2.) There really is a Salt Lick, Ky. It was named Salt Lick because the ground had salt in it and the deer, elk and other wildlife would lick the ground to get the salt. That made it a good place to live because there would always be plenty of game to eat so they made a town there in the 1770's and called it... you guessed it, Salt Lick!**

**It now only has about 350 people living there but in its heyday (from the late 1800's to the early 1930's.) it had close to 1,000 residents.**

**If you would like to know more about Salt Lick you can go to salt*lick*ky*dot*com (take out the stars.) They have some really neat old pic!**

**Thanks for your time! **

**Please leave a Review!**

**GS :D **


	5. April 13, 1942

**A/N: Hey! I'm so sorry it took so long to update this. I've been trying to get back in the groove of school. (What fun, right?)**

**I'm sorry this is so short, but like I said in the last chapter, a longer one _is coming soon_! **

**A big thank you to my bate reader Book 'em Again!**

**And now I'll let you get on to the story.**

**Thanks for reading. _PLEASE review!_ **

**GS :)**

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><p>You know, I'm almost positive it says somewhere in the Geneva Convention that prisoners should have at least one day of rest a week. Apparently, Hitzig doesn't give a hang about the Geneva Convention, because it's been two weeks since I got here and not one day has gone by that we weren't working.<p>

Today, Blake, Swanson and I were put on loading detail. And I'm not so sure Swanson was strong enough to be doing this. I mean come on, the kid looks ready to drop at any moment. I am most certainly not the strongest guy here, as a matter of fact the only sport I was ever any good at in school was track, but even I was stronger than Swanson. You'd think that if a guy was to work all the time for a year straight he would be a pretty strong guy, but it seems like the work was only wearing him out.

I looked around at the other men working out here with us. They all looked like Swanson, thin and ready to drop. Some of them were faring a little better than others, but over all they looked half starved and wilted.

"Andy!" I was pushed to the ground as a heavy weigh collided onto me.

I looked up in shock to see Blake lying on top of me.

"Watch out, Andy! That log almost smashed you flat!" he said, panting.

"What?" I looked around to see that, yes indeed, there was a log swinging where I had stood just a few seconds before.

Blake stood up and dusted himself off. "You've got to pay more attention to what you're doing."

"Thanks," I told him as he gave me a hand up. "I'm sorry, I'll try to pay more attention, Blake."

Blake shook his head and sighed as he moved to position the log over the low bed of the wagon.

I helped him unhook the chains and, with a mighty shove, sent it back up to the log pile.

It really was ingenious the way they had this thing rigged up. A long smooth cable stretched from high up on a tree at the top of the small hill to a tree just a little past where we were working at the bottom. It wasn't much of a hill so that meant that the log hooked to the cable by thick chains was moving pretty slow once it reached us. Once we got log was unhooked, we shoved the chains back up as far as we could and whoever was up top pulled it the rest of the way with the thick rope tied to it and hooked up another log.

Blake looked around with a questioning look.

"Where's Swanson?" he asked.

"I don't know, he was just here." I hoped he didn't try to escape again.

Then I spotted him. He was sitting with his back to the wagon holding a white cloth to his nose. So I climbed down and walked over to him.

"You okay?" I asked the kid.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a nose bleed, happens all the time." He smiled, but I could tell it was forced. However, I decided to leave it alone for the time being, mostly because one of the guards was looking at us.

"We better get back to work," I told Swanson.

Swanson stood, swayed and set back down again, head in his hands.

"Hey, you don't look so good. Should I go get a guard?" I asked, concerned.

"No, no its j-just a little dizzy spell, it'll pass," he rasped.

"Are you sure you're okay?" His nose had started bleeding again.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

I sighed and looked over at Blake, who was standing by the tail of the wagon watching us with a concerned look on his face.

After a few minutes Swanson stood back up, shoving a bloody cloth into his pocket.

"See, right as a raisin," Swanson said, smiling.

"I believe that is rain," Blake commented with a cocked eyebrow.

Swanson shrugged and walked over to the waiting log, moving it into place.

Blake and I looked at each other. Blake rolled his eyes and we went to help him unhook the log.

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><p>I've heard that a lot of times after a guy is shot down he has nightmares about it. Maybe mine was delayed or something, 'cause I didn't have those nightmares.<p>

Blake did though.

At first they weren't very bad, he would just toss and turn and maybe mumble some things every now and then. I guess the work kept him so tired he barely dreamed at all, but once he got use to the work load, they got worse. A lot worse.

Blake had woken up screaming tonight, just as he had last night.

I sat beside Blake, my arm draped over his shoulder in a comforting manner and Blake's head on my shoulder as he sobbed quietly.

I remember one time, I had a nightmare and my older brother Antony had comforted me the same way I did Blake. Antony is a Lt. in the Air Force now; I haven't seen or heard from him since last year.

Blake's sobs had turned to silent tears and an occasional sniffle.

"You gonna be okay?" I whispered.

"Yeah... Thanks, Andy," he said so softly I could barely hear him.

"That what friends are for." I shrugged.

We were much more than friends though, we were brothers.

I remember when I was a little kid Momma had read to me and Antony out of the Bible every night. One of my favorite stories had always been the one about David and Jonathan and how their souls were knit together and they were like brothers.

I guess Blake and I are kind of like David and Jonathan; nothing will ever come between us. Not even death.


	6. April 28, 1942

**A/N: (Please read!)**

**I am so sorry it has taken so long to update! But, I have some good news for you! Because I think I have done a fair job of giving you the feel of Stalag 5, the next chapter _will_ be much longer and -hopefully- will move the story on to the next part! But, I must ask all of you readers to please do something for me. I need you to leave a review telling what you think of the story so far. What do you think of Stalag 5 and Hitzig? What about Blake and Swanson? Did you get a good feel for them? Will you keep reading? Please leave a review! Even if you do it under guest and just say "Its okay, I'll keep reading." or "It could use a little more..." constructive criticism is always welcome!**

**A big thank you to my beta reader Book 'em Again!**

**And... on to the story! **

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><p>"So Kid, you speak any German?" Blake had started referring to Swanson as 'Kid'. I don't know why 'cause Swanson isn't really all that much younger than us, maybe three years at the most. I guess maybe he feels a little protective over him; I know I do.<p>

"Naw," Swanson answered.

Today, we had the same job that we had had for the past two weeks of loading the logging wagons. It wasn't a bad job. I really wouldn't have minded it so much if we didn't have to do it from sun up to sun down with only a few water breaks every single day.

"I could teach ya some if ya want. I've been teachin' Andy here since we got here," Blake offered.

"Sure, might come in handy someday." Swanson shrugged his shoulders and climbed up on the wagon to maneuver a log into place while I assisted him from the ground.

A nicker drew my attention to the line of ten horses waiting to be hooked up to wagons. You know, it really is something that they treat those horses better than us prisoners. There they are tied up in the shade with their friends, water buckets in reach and nice green grass to munch on, and here we are out here slaving in the hot sun - okay, so it's not that hot, but it is warm! And we only get a water break ever few hours. And food? Well if we're lucky we may get some 'Hog Slop', as Swanson calls it, for lunch and maybe, just maybe, we might get some dinner. That is if there's any left over from the slop they feed the other barracks that get back earlier than we do.

It's not that I wish the horses were treated the way we are; it's just that they are treating us worse than horses! We may be enemy prisoners, but we are still people for crying out loud!

"Try 'Guten Abend'," Blake said to Swanson.

"Guten Abend," Swanson repeated.

"That was good evening." Blake pulled another swinging log toward us. "How about 'Wer bist du?'"

Swanson again repeated what Blake told him.

"Andy, what did he just say?" Blake questioned me.

"I believe he said 'who are you'," I answered. I had gotten pretty good at speaking German, but Blake said I still needed to work on my accent.

I was glad that Blake was teaching me and Swanson German. I don't think I'll ever really need to use it, but knowing some of the language does makes it a lot easier to understand what the guards want us to do. Although seeing them try to act out what they're trying to tell us is pretty funny.

"Yep," Blake said. He continued teaching Swanson, and helping me with my accent, until we got our next water brake.

As always, the line was long and the water was hot. Not boiling hot, but tempered. However, tempered water is better than no water...

Since it was around lunch time, well actually it was a little after because the guards had already eaten their lunch, we were given our daily 'Hog Slop'. Yesterday it had been green, today it had a kind of orange tint mixed with the green and it was a little lumpy.

The guards must have felt generous today because they gave us a quarter cup of water to wash the Slop down with. Maybe it was a sign that things were finally looking up!

They sent us right back to work after that. Blake taught Swanson a little more German before a guard got tired of it. Well really what it was, was that the Sergeant of the Guard was making his rounds and our guard didn't want him to hear us speaking German while he was on duty. Most of the time our guard let us speak in whatever language we want as long as we are working.

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful, we just loaded logs and working on our German a little more before it was finally time to quit for the day.

As the sun sat we were loaded into a box truck and driven back to camp where we waited for roll call and then went inside our barracks to sleep.

4:00 AM came all too soon the next morning. A guard barged into our barracks right on time, as always, bellowing at the top of his lungs "Roooooll Caaall! Everyone up now!"

This guard was new, well maybe not new to the Stalag, but new to me. He was around average height with a stocky build and looked to be in his mid thirties. He had a neatly trimmed solid white beard and contrasting dark brown eyes, his uniform told that he was a sergeant. But I noticed as he walked back out the door he was limping badly on his right leg.

We quickly dressed and shuffled out the door, forming a nice straight line and standing at perfect attention.

Hitzig came strutting out of his office and called for a report, which White Beard promptly gave him.

"Bring everyone here." Hitzig told White Beard, who saluted and quickly limped away to the other barracks.

Pretty soon every prisoner from Barracks 1 to 14 was lined up with us in front of the Kommandant's office, where Hitzig stood on the porch.

Swanson had quickly made his way to stand beside of me and Blake.

"What's going on?" Blake asked him in a whisper.

"The Kommandant's monthly report of the war. Don't believe a word he says," he answered.

"Prisoners, enemies, cowering mongrels," Hitzig began, "I feel that, as you beloved Kommandant, I must bring you news of the war. England has fallen, its people whimper in fear at our superior feet!"

The prisoners remained quiet, but it was easy to read the looks of anger and hatred on some faces.

"France has been smashed under out heels, its petty, idiotic people now beg for us to spare them their lives."

From somewhere to my right in the large body of prisoner I heard a loud burst of someone speaking rapid, angry French.

Hitzig's face looked monstrous as he ordered the guards "Seize that mongrel and take him to the post!"

Four guards rushed into the crowd and two grabbed an angry looking man by the arms while the other two held their guns on him.

I looked over at Swanson to ask him what they were going to do to him, but when I saw his face I was shocked. He looked as if he were in a trance, his eyes shown bright with pure horror.

"S-Swanson?" I whispered timidly.

He jerked as if I had snapped him out of a dream.

"Yeah, Andy?"

"What are they going to do with him? What's the post?"

The look in his eyes was haunting and he looked a thousand years old as he said those six awful words that I will never forget.

"You don't want to know."

He was right, I wish I didn't know what happened to that brave, or maybe stupid, Frenchman. Sometimes I can still heard the crack of the Kommandant's whip and the gut wrenching screams.

I don't know if I will ever be able to forget that awful day.

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to review! Thanks!<strong>


	7. May 10th, 1942

**Hi!**

**Thank y'all so much for all the reviews for the last chapter!**

**I did write a longer chapter, but I have decided to brake it up by the dates.**

**A big thank you to my beta reader Book 'em Again!**

**Please don't forget to review!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes... **

* * *

><p>"You okay?" Blake asked as I limped along behind him.<p>

"Yeah, they just roughed me up a little. I'm fine, really."

Blake raised an eyebrow and gave me a knowing look. It had been a little more than just a 'roughing up', that guard had hit me pretty hard on the back of the head with the butt of his rifle and my ankle, though I don't think it's broken, hurts something awful from where I fell. Not to mention my black eye which Blake called a shiner. It isn't a shiner, a shiner is something you get in a fair fight - you know, one you can fight back in and not be shot - this is just a black eye from a beating. However, I was lucky the guard had picked the end of the day to rough me up so I could get back to the barracks and sleep some of the aches off, or at least try to.

I grunted as Blake pulled me up into the truck by the hand. I swayed as everything started tilting and I would have fallen right back out of the truck if Blake hadn't clamped a hand on my shoulder and helped me to a seat toward the back.

At roll call I tried my best to keep all of my weight on my uninjured foot and not sway. 'Cause if there's one thing I did not want to do tonight it was to be thrown in the Hot Room by Hitzig.

Once we were dismissed I headed straight to my lumpy bunk and took of my boots. Blake walked in behind me and set facing me on his bunk.

"Let me see." Blake examined my ankle for a minute or two before he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped it tightly around my ankle.

"It ain't broke," he told me, "just sprained. Let me look at your head."

I obliged and he again examined me and asked a few questions, finally deciding it was just a bad bump.

"Thank you, Dr. Blake," I said once he was all done.

"Your wel-"

"I said NO!" Our friendly bantering cut off by the loudest thing I had ever head come out of any of the three other men in the barracks, Blake and I turned to see Adams and Jones starring wide-eyed at a red faced Thompson.

Thompson glared at me and Blake then he whispered something harshly to Adams and Jones; their faces turned slightly pale at whatever he said.

The awkward silence that fallowed was shortly broken by the call for lights out and our electricity - one light bulb dangling from the ceiling - was turned off.

I laid awake in my bunk for awhile, pondering on what Thompson, Adams and Jones had been arguing about again. It clearly had something to do with me and Blake and I wandered if it was the same thing they argued about in the barn.

I finally decide to just forget about it. Sleep was more important to me than figuring out what they had been talking about.


	8. May 17th, 1942

**Disclaimer: Still don't own it...**

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><p>I should have known what they were planning. Ever since Thompson's outburst last week I should have known. They were planning an escape, and they were leaving me and Blake here.<p>

So when I heard the guards shouting "Sie sind entkommen!", it didn't take me long to figure out exactly who "they" were.

I heard the barking and snarling of the three guard dogs that always came on the work details as they were released.

I could barely make out the forms off three men running full out away from the logging area. Five guards ran after them peppering the woods with bullets as most of their shots went wild, not even coming close to their targets. Until suddenly one did.

Adams - as well as I could tell - was hit in the leg and did what looked almost like a cartwheel, landing on his back.

The dogs were on him in an instant, ripping and tearing at his unprotected flesh. Blood curdling cries rend the air.

Jones had tried to turn back and help him, but Thompson, knowing it was already too late, grabbed his arm and yanked him along behind him.

Then Adams screams stopped. Just like that they stopped. Then the dogs tore out after Thompson and Jones, leaving the bloody still corpse of Adams laying there.

The dogs may be able to track them, but Jones and Thompson were already out of sight and I prayed they would make it safely back to England.

While ten of the twenty guards searched for Jones and Thompson, the remaining guards ordered everyone to the trucks. They were taking us back to the Stalag.

"You think they'll make it?" I whispered to Blake as we jostled around in the back of the truck.

"Don't worry about them, worry about us," Blake replied.

"What do you mean?"

"They're from our barracks, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, who do you think Hitzig will punish for this? Can't be Jones or Thompson, they're gone. Can't be Adams, he's dead. Who does that leave from our barracks?" Blake inquire shortly.

I stared at him as the realization dawned on me: Hitzig was going to punish us for their escape.

Blake and I stood outside Barracks 4 in perfect attention as the guard reported to Hitzig that three prisoners had made an escape attempt and two of them had made it, leaving the other dead.

I watched as Hitzig's face contoured in anger and I shuttered when his eyes locked with mine. They say a man's eyes are the windows to his soul and, if that's true, Hitzig has no soul. Other than the pure hatred, because looking into Hitzig's eyes was no different than looking into Adams' cold, lifeless ones.

Then Hitzig did something I never would have thought him capable of. He smiled, Not your friendly hey-how-you-doing-pass-someone-on-the-street smile but the kind of I-would-love-to-torture-you-and-watch-you-die-slowly smile.

"Thirty days in the Hot Room, bread and water and I will personally interrogate them to see what they can tell us about the escape," Hitzig sneered.

"Ja, Herr Kommandant!" the guard snapped to attention and walked over to me and Blake.

We are roughly shoved past a smirking Hitzig toward the Hot Room.

"I'll be seeing you mongrels. Sleep well," he mocked.

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><p><strong>Translation: <strong>

**Sie sind entkommen! - They're escaping!**


	9. May 18th, 1942

**Disclaimer: Hey! Would you look at that! I own Hogan's Heroes now! Okay, not really, but hey, you cant blame me for trying!**

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><p>"Well, they sure named it the Hot Room for a good reason," Blake panted as we set on one of the bunks with our backs to the wall.<p>

"No kidding, boy!"

"That Hitzig is crazy! Punishing us for Thompson's and Jones' escape. Obviously if we were in on it we would have went with them!"

"You don't gotta tell me that! Hitzig would probably punish his own mother for their escape if he ever thought it might do him any good." I sighed as I look around the room. Block walls, iron bars, one fogged up window, six bunks and an ever burning stove made up the feared Hot Room. I'm sure Hitzig designed it; no one else could have made something so "beautiful and homey".

Judging by what little of the dark sky I could see and the position of the stars, I guessed it to be around three in the morning.

I remember once when I was a kid my uncle, Skipping Bull, had taught me how to tell where you are and what time it was by the stars. He had also taught me that the night it darkest just before the dawn.

I yawned and rubbed my eyes. The heat had made it impossible to sleep, though both Blake and I were exhausted.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing the white bearded sergeant and Kommandant Hitzig.

Hitzig strutted in with a smirk on he's face and a gleam in his eyes. He was going to enjoy this.

"Put this one in one of the other cell," he ordered White Beard.

The sergeant quickly unlocked the door and grabbed Blake by the arm, yanking him off the bunk, out the cell door and into another cell where he locked him in.

"So, Sergeant Carter," Hitzig began as he stepped into my cell and White Beard closed and locked the door. "What can you tell me about yesterday's escape by three of your men?"

"Nothing," I replied, "I had no idea they were planning it until they were gone."

The riding crop came out of nowhere; I didn't even see him move. But it stung sharply when it came in contact with my cheek, snapping my head to the side.

"That's not the answer I'm looking for, sergeant! Try again!" Hitzig barked.

I felt a small trickle of blood run down my face, but I forced myself to remain calm. "I told you, I didn't and don't know anything. If I had known anything, I would have went with them."

"What? You don't like my hospitality?" Hitzig lashed out with his riding crop again, snapping my head to the other side and I felt a welt forming on my cheek.

"Not particularly, no," I grunted.

"You were their Barracks' Leader, surly they must have told you something! Where were they going?!" I could see the rage welling up within him.

"I don't know."

My head was slammed into the wall as Hitzig's fist collided with my chin. Waves of pain roll through my skull and all I can hear is a loud ringing and the distant calls of Blake saying my name, then the world around me goes black.

I wake to a throbbing pain in my head and for a moment think I'm back at the crash site. Then, in a flash of images of flames, Stalag 5, Blake, Hitzig, Thompson, Adams and Jones, Swanson and Adams' bloody body, I remember what happened.

My eyes snapped open and the pain in my head intensifies tenfold. Groaning, I look around and see that I'm in the Hot Room all by myself - Blake is nowhere to be seen. I gingerly reach my hand up to the back of my head and feel dry blood in my hair.

I look out the window at the sky, it must be about noon.

I hear keys jingle and turn my head to look at the door. Bad idea. New lightning bolts of pain jump inside my skull and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to keep the room from spinning and dipping.

"Good, your awake." It was White Beard, I could tell by his light accent. White Beard, or whatever his real name might be, speaks the best English I've ever heard a German speak.

He unlocks my cell door and helps me to my feet. The room is like a spinning top for a moment but it settles down. White Beard then pulls me out of the Hot Room and leads me to a truck that is just loading up in front of Barracks 1. I climb in and plop down in the first seat that I see, putting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.

After a minute the truck starts up and pulls out. I look at the guy beside me, a middle aged man with dirt smudges all over him and his jumpsuit. "Where's this truck going?" I asked.

"To Hell, kid. This truck is going to Hell."

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><p><strong>Okay, that's all folks! Hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a review!<strong>

**Thanks!**


	10. Authors Note

**A/N: Attention!**

**Hello everyone.**

**I'm really sorry, this is not a new chapter... But I felt I needed to tell y'all this.**

**I won't be updating for a while, something has came up in real life that I have to deal with...**

**I'm really sorry, but I will update one of these day!**

**GS**


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